Chapter 12

The river before them didn’t part with a roar or a clash of magic. It simply pulled back, as if the water had changed its mind. Moonlight stretched across the surface, bending inward like a curtain drawn by invisible hands. The current slowed, reversed, and quietly dragged itself away, exposing slick, pale stone and ancient roots that should have stayed submerged forever.

The forest fell completely dead. Insects cut short their chirping. Leaves froze mid-sway. The air grew thick, heavy with the weight of something waiting to happen.

Daniel stopped dead. Not because anyone ordered him to, but because every nerve in his body screamed that stepping forward without an invitation would be a fatal mistake.

“This isn’t right,” Eva breathed, pulling up short beside him.

“It’s on purpose,” Angelina corrected, her jaw tight and her shoulders braced. She glanced around nervously. “Is this Dranum?”

Daniel focused on the shift in the atmosphere. There was no crushing weight, no raw aggression. It was a presence that didn't force its way into the world, but slipped between its seams—quiet, smooth, and painfully old. Warlocks ripped through reality. Demons smashed it. This power just… waited.

“No,” Daniel murmured. “Fey.”

Across the dry riverbed, shapes drifted into view. They didn't walk out of the dark so much as the shadows re-aligned to reveal them. Tall, impossibly thin, and slightly wrong to look at. Their skin looked like polished bark, their eyes caught the pale light in ways human eyes couldn't, and their clothes shimmered like wet dusk. A few wore branching antlers like natural crowns; others kept iridescent wings folded tight against their backs.

At their center stood one who almost looked human. Almost. Slight, with hair like spun silver, she wore a smile that felt completely hollow and terrifyingly polite. Her eyes locked onto Daniel with the easy familiarity of someone opening a book they had read a hundred times. A cold, uncomfortable prickle ran down his neck.

“Daniel,” the silver-haired Fey said, her voice smooth as glass. “You’re early.”

“Early?” Angelina’s lip curled into a sneer. “I don’t remember us having any appointments.”

The Fey gave a graceful little tilt of her head. “No. Of course not.”Though the rest of the Court remained frozen like statues, only she spoke. “You’re here because the pack is restless,” she said softly. “Because Granland smells like panic. Because the night is nervous with you walking around in it, and nobody knows which way you’re going to snap.” She paused, her smile widening just a fraction. “Because your seal is gone.”

“I’m not snapping anywhere,” Daniel snapped back. “I’m on my own side.”

Eva stiffened beside him. Daniel felt the sharp shift in her pulse—the sickening quiet of a secret being stripped bare.

“How do you know about the seal?” Daniel asked, his voice dropping into a dangerous register.

The Fey let out a low, musical laugh. “We know a great deal.”

“How?” Eva demanded, her voice tight. “We didn't tell a soul.”

“You told the whole world,” the Fey replied lightly, her focud on Daniel. “the moment you let out the dark parts of yourself.”

Eva caught her breath. Instinctively, Daniel shifted his weight, sliding half a step in front of her to block the Fey’s view.

“What do you want?” he asked.

The Fey watched him for a long moment, then let out a soft, delicate sigh. “Always such heavy questions.”

She raised one pale hand. Behind her, the river rushed back into its bed with a heavy splash, sealing the dry stone away. The earth groaned as roots shifted beneath the soil. Tree branches bent inward, weaving together until the glade transformed into an open amphitheater of wet stone and deep shadow.

More Fey appeared—perched casually on high branches, standing ankle-deep in the cold water, or leaning against trunks as if settling in for a show.

“It’s a court,” Angelina whispered, her hand dropping near her hip.

“A gathering,” the silver-haired one corrected gently. “Our true courts lie elsewhere in this realm. Though I hope you'll visit us soon—Her Majesty would be thrilled to host you.”

Daniel felt dozens of ancient eyes drilling into him and the sisters. Not angry. Not hungry. Just terribly curious.

“You’re pushing boundaries,” Daniel said flatly. “This is Veridian ground.”

“It is.” The Faerie replied.

“You’re poking them on purpose.”

She smirked. “We are.”

“You’re trying to start a damn war!” Angelina spat.

The Fey turned her gaze to Angelina, unbothered. “No. Wars take lies.” She looked back at Daniel. “We can only tell the truth.”

“You bend it,” Daniel fired back. “You can’t lie, so you twist facts until people confuse themselves into bloodbath.”

“Call it what you like,” she murmured. “We’ve simply turned an inconvenience into an art form.”

“So what is this?” Eva interjected, taking a tense step forward. “You’re using your 'truths' to set off a war? Why?”

“Oh, no,” the Fey whispered. “The war already started.”

The words hung in the damp air like frost. Daniel felt the hair on his arms stand up. It was subtle, far too clean for warlocks or wolves, but he recognized the setup now that his seal wasn't muting his instincts. The Fey were pulling strings, letting everyone else tie the knots.

The silver-haired Fey locked eyes with Daniel again. “You’re very interesting to us.” She said.

“I don't care,” Daniel said bluntly. “I don't care about you, and I don't care about your truths.”

A ripple of quiet, chilling amusement passed through the gathered Fey.

“We know,” she said softly. “That’s what makes this work so well.”

She took a slow step forward, stopping just out of his reach.

“You want peace,” she said, her voice like a knife cutting through silk. “But peace runs from you. You try restraint, and blood spills anyway. You try violence, and blood answers.”

“Shut up,” Eva said, her voice shaking as she reached out and grabbed Daniel’s sleeve.

The Fey glanced down at Eva’s hand, then back up. “We didn't say he likes the killing, little wolf. We said the killing likes him.”

Eva’s grip tightened until her knuckles went white. “You’re twisting things!” Angelina snarled, her fangs lengthening.

“Of course,” the Fey agreed comfortably. “But it’s still true, and you can’t deny that.”

She raised her hand again, and the air shimmered like heat rising off asphalt. Images bled into the space between them:

Eva kneeling over Daniel’s dead body, her face completely blank, her eyes hollowed out by grief.

Angelina screaming at a burning horizon, covered head-to-toe in blood that didn't belong to her.

A city tearing itself apart—wolves and vampires ripping each other’s throats out while warlocks watched quietly from high stone windows.

Eva gasped, stumbling back. Angelina let out a low, furious growl.

“Stop it,” Daniel growled, ripping his gaze away. “They’re just tricks.”

“Not tricks,” the Fey said gently, lowering her hand as the images dissolved. “Possibilities.”

“Why show us that?” Eva asked, her breath coming in ragged hitches.

“Because you were already asking,” the Fey replied softly.

“I wasn't—”

“You ask yourself every night,” the Fey interrupted, her tone almost tender. “You wonder if loving him is going to get you killed.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Daniel turned to look at Eva, a cold knot tightening in his chest. “Eva...”

She couldn't look him in the eye. She stared at the mud.

Angelina stepped right up into the Fey’s space, fury radiating off her. “That was none of your business to bring up!”

“No,” the Fey agreed smoothly. “It wasn't.”

Angelina blinked, caught off guard. “Then why say it?!”

The silver-haired Fey met her rage with complete serenity. “Because she needed to hear it out loud.” Her gaze drifted to Angelina.

“You’ll survive him,” the Fey told her plainly. “It’s going to hurt, and you won't be the same person when it’s over. But you will live.”

Daniel’s voice cut through like iron. “What about Eva?”

The Fey looked at him. She didn't say a word, and the silence was answer enough.

Suddenly, the woods burst into motion. Water slammed against the banks, and thick roots tore through the soil. Veridians spilled out of the brush—Greenhands clad in living bark armor, and Tidemasters holding the river in place with raw magic. Their faces were stone, their power humming in the air.

A tall Veridian woman pushed to the front, her eyes flashing. “Fey,” she barked. “You’re out of line.”

The silver-haired Fey offered a polite bow. “We’re standing exactly where we’re allowed to stand.”

“You’re messing with the river!”

“We were preventing a mess.”

“You brought monsters onto sacred land!”

“We didn't ask to be here!” Angelina snapped back, her claws fully extended.

“Choice,” the Fey murmured, almost to herself. “People always think they have it.”

The Veridian leader turned her glare onto Daniel, her grip tightening on her staff. Daniel could feel the Fey’s trap springing—no lies told, just the exact truth needed to make these people terrified of him.

Eva stepped up, her voice surprisingly firm. “He didn't cause this.”

The Veridian woman hesitated, eyes flicking between them.

The Fey leaned in slightly, her whisper carrying clearly across the clearing. “She’s telling the truth.”

The Veridian’s jaw set, caught in the snare of her own instincts.

Daniel looked around at the spears, the claws, the magic waiting to go off, and felt a profound, exhausting tiredness settle into his bones.

“I just want it to stop,” he said quietly, his voice carrying over the rushing water. “I’m sick of everyone being terrified of me before they even know what I’m scared of.”

Nobody moved. The whole clearing went dead quiet.

In the shadows behind the trees, more eyes gleamed—wolves, drawn by the sudden shift in the air.

“They set us up,” Angelina muttered under her breath, taking in the crowd.

“We did,” the silver-haired Fey admitted cheerfully. “Just not the way you think.”

The Veridian leader raised her hand, keeping her eyes on the Fey. “Get out. Right now.”

The Fey bowed deeply. “As you wish.” She looked at Daniel one last time, her hollow smile softening just a fraction. “We didn't tell a single lie, Daniel. Don't forget that.”

In a flash of soft light, the Fey dissolved, sinking into the bark, the stone, and the water. The suffocating weight in the forest  instantly vanished.

A split second later, a wolf burst from the treeline, lunging straight for Daniel’s throat. Daniel didn't even draw his blade. He moved on instinct—sidestepping, catching the beast by the scruff mid-air, and slamming it hard into the earth. Stone cracked beneath the impact. He held the wolf down just long enough for it to stop thrashing, then let go. The creature shifted back into a man, unconscious and bleeding from the nose.

Daniel stood up, wiping his hands on his jacket. “I don't want this,” he told the Veridians, looking their leader dead in the eye. “Any of it.”

The Veridian woman stared at him, looking at the unconscious wolf, then at Daniel's tired eyes. Slowly, she lowered her hand.

“Go,” she said, her voice much lower this time. “Leave before somebody does something we can't take back.”

Daniel turned and walked away. Eva reached out, her fingers lacing through his. Her hand was cold and shaking violently, but she didn't let go.

Behind them, the forest whispered—not from the wind, but from the truths the Fey had left behind, already sinking deep into the earth.